


And I Wished for the Sky to be Clear Again

by bluegrass



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Estraneo Famiglia - Freeform, Family Fluff, Gen, Human Experimentation, I'm not sure how, Morally Grey Tsuna, Must be the anger, On Hiatus, Perpetually Angry Tsuna, Tsuna's become something like a second Xanxus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-07-10 18:21:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15954914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegrass/pseuds/bluegrass
Summary: Iemitsu doesn't return for reasons only known to Kami after Nono comes to visit. Abandoned, Nana is overworked and Tsuna grows to be proud of the scars that litter his skin. Picking fights with the Yakuza isn't a healthy reason to let your mother cry over, but Tsuna's too afraid to approach the Hibari's as a second option.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So this idea just popped up at 12am (it's 3 now) and I just needed it out of my system. Leave a Kudos and comment if you liked it! >w<

**And I Wished for the Sky to be Clear Again**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own KHR nor any of its characters except my own.** _

* * *

Tsuna wondered why the world couldn't just end right as he closed the compact coffin of the last living relative he had left. Mama was dead now, no thanks to his Papa that seemed to have disappeared off the face of the Earth aeons ago. Thinking of it, he barely even remembered the man's face, and if he bothered, only the soft scent of iron and guilt could jog his memory.

The brunet slumped his back against the wooden box that held his mother's ashes. he slid down slowly, sitting against it with barely a noise. Like some sad, tear-jerk movie, it had been raining when Sawada Iemitsu left, Tsuna's mother was inconsolable for months afterwards.

Kami-sama knew, it hadn't even been that bad until the blasted day his father's boss came to visit. At the time, Nana still knew how to smile from the thought of her husband returning every once in a while but after  _that_  day, the housewife had somehow known that the cards in the deck had changed. Nothing would be the same anymore and she grieved with Tsuna by her side.

 _('Tsu-kun? Don't be sad, okay? Papa has simply gone off to become a star!"_  Tsuna snorted at the memory, a fist grasping at the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline. Sullenly, he thought to himself, that at this rate, it wouldn't be long before the entire Sawada family became stars.)

They'd waited year after year, stretching the limit of how long a person could be marked missing before they were legally declared dead. Mama hadn't actually reported him, both knew it'd be a pointless attempt.

Nevertheless, almost a decade had gone by and the once-young woman clinging by the name of Sawada possessed hollow cheeks as she held her son's hand and told him to be good. A young Tsuna stood by the door after every painful day of school, waiting for the return of his Mama's return after she'd gone out to find yet another job on top of her two other part-times.

_Sawada Nana. Age 42. Death by overwork._

Who could've guessed that the happy-go-lucky housewife would end like this?

Perhaps in another decade, if Tsuna would outgrow the Dame-ness people claimed he had, he could've had the time to laugh sardonically as he sat in a house called home; the TV would be turned on and he'd quietly reminisce on the 'old days' where life was tough but not terrible. Gritting his teeth as tears tracked down his face, paying silent respects to one Sawada Nana because before Nana was a waitress, cashier and single-mother, she was his Mama, his home, his  _everything_.

He'd have time to do all that.

Maybe Mochida Kensuke's brother had a point when he reached out to the night's sky to catch stars despite the wisps of clouds drifting by making it nigh impossible. He was sad and eighteen but Tsuna adored him anyway. Gripping Ryosuke's shirt as he told the young impressionable brunet how he loved the rattle of adrenaline that seemed to enter his bones as he punched a man that called him a bastard.

He didn't ask to be born of a night's shameful mistake, but what's to be done? Ryosuke smiled as he ruffled Tsuna's hair, "I'd give up the night sky y'know? Don't need to catch its stars or watch the clouds or taste the rain." Just for another chance in life where he could punch the man once more without getting caught.

As it was, he was stuck in the confines of his room. He didn't beat up just one person, but accidently sacked a Hibari officer while he was drowning in a fit of angry impulse as they wrangled him to a polished cell. Ryosuke was under surveillance now, and his parents were afraid of the things it did to the reputation of their Dojo.

Little Tsuna thought it was horribly cool to manage a hit on a Hibari, nothing could change his impressionable mind otherwise. It was then, a tiny seed of inspiration sprouted within his blessed little heart.

Nana slowly grew concerned when Tsuna came back littered with cuts and bruises whenever he came home from school. According to the mothers of the children he had a spat with, their mothers told Nana that Tsuna deserved every single wound he got because  _their_ sons called him Dame.

He was fixing his problems with violence, Nana realised; even though he wasn't winning. Nana wanted to tell Tsuna to stop, to end this vicious cycle, but she couldn't. Not when her son looked like an ironically bloody sun as he put ointment on yet another cut. As though the scars that would paint his skin a pale pink were trophies to be carried with pride.

She wouldn't ruin this for him, not when she could offer him nothing else.

Tsuna sighed, head dropped sullenly as he shifted to kneel before his mother's ashes. As of now, he was bound to the foster system, or an orphanage, he spat internally. Now, Tsuna had nothing against the intended function of the system, they supposedly meant well, but something in his gut told Tsuna that anything close to either of it would simply result in a lot of pain.

Because what if they treated him badly? What if they had some pathetic excuse of a hierarchy where Tsuna failed to settle in because he liked to break the nose of almost every kid that questioned his intelligence. Tsuna was not Dame. Not if he knew how to break an arm or leg or nose quicker than saying 'Dame-Tsuna'.

He wasn't weak anymore, even if he may've lost one or two or ten battles every once in a while when the Yakuza came to make their rounds and used him as a volunteer errand boy (punching bag) for cash (the rare moments when they did give him any), but that was beside the point.

Tsuna would pick his fights because he could and not because of its victories. That was all that mattered nowadays. Especially with his Mama gone, the brunet sighed as he pulled at his fluffy hair. How's he going to pay for the bills or the funeral or for anything  _now_?

The funeral was a quiet thing while it lasted. It took place near a deserted shrine a good 45 minutes away from where their hovel was. Sawada Nana was not a religious woman, but ever since the ever permanent flow of cash and presence of her husband, she turned to any kind of Kami often enough.

Tsuna hoped she met whoever his mother worshipped, she deserved to have that at the very least. He hoped that the Gods and Goddesses would be kind because the world didn't offer that privilege to their family long enough.

Despite being on the unfortunate end of a headache, the brunet tried to distract himself by attempting to harvest a grief he didn't really want to feel. Make no mistake, he loved the easily loveable woman known as Sawada Nana despite her slight shortcomings and mourned her death, but let the dead lie, the living still had to walk and talk and function as usual.

With that snap of bitterness, Tsuna suddenly, though not without good reason, yearned to have someone introduce his soft features to a grimy alley wall. A pulse of disgust wretched itself from his gut because how could he be so  _terrible_  ('Practical.' Another part of him whispered. Someone punch him, please. The yakuza nii-sans, preferably. The Hibari's had instilled the fear of their name- not Kami's- thoroughly.) Tsuna felt this close to throwing up all over the dull yellow chrysanthemums.

A lady in a formal suit approached him before the endeavour. Tsuna glanced upwards to the intruder upon a very private moment, eyes flashing a distinct molten gold. He didn't miss the way the woman's eyes widened ever so slightly against her stoic expression.

"Sawada Tsunayoshi. Son of Sawada Nana and Sawada Iemitsu. Born on the fourteenth of October and as of the year 2000, you are ten years of age." She stated with neither warmth nor coldness.

The brunet nodded, head tilted in sombre question.

Somewhat curious, Tsuna observed her dark hair tied in a high ponytail all the way to her well-manicured fingernails as she dug through the large handbag hung on her shoulder. She didn't look Japanese, Tsuna noted. A manila envelope was pulled out shortly, the brunet took it cautiously with a sceptical narrow of his large doe eyes as she handed it to him.

Inside the accursed thing, were private details of his and his mother's life throughout the years. Tsuna held in a startled whimper as he traced a finger against a picture of his mom and he sitting by the dining table. The Tsuna in the image has a palate of bruises spread throughout his skin like a bucket of spilt paint on a blank canvas. An expression of mixed fear and accomplishment on his face.

There were greens, yellows, and beaded purples. Mama was crying as she tended any bleeding injuries; most notably were the blooming stages of a painful bruise on Tsuna's neck. He remembered being 8 during this particular moment. Returning back home after a pathetic attempt of becoming strong, the boy had stumbled upon the Yakuza like a beacon of light for trouble.

To say the least, the man wasn't very kind to the excitably fight-seeking boy. Nana thanked her lucky stars they hadn't simply kidnapped her Tsu-kun and sold him to wherever the sun didn't shine.

Tsuna had a good talk with his mother about his latest conquest of becoming strong that day. The fact that they even had pictures of it from what appeared to be taken from within their own home had Tsuna feeling mind-numbingly violated.

"Who are you?! What do you want?!" He barked defensively. "Are you Mafia? Yakuza? One of the Triads? I don't have anything, okay? So go away!"

For the second time that gloomy day, the women looked visibly shocked. "Y-you know about the Mafia?" She managed relatively steadily. "How did you find out?"

Tsuna's gut told him stay quiet even as anger crawled beneath the surface of his skin with the bubbling of boiled acid. He obeyed it, just to drink in the emotion of frustration that crossed the woman's face. She clicked her tongue, whatever pretence of politeness gone.

"Okay, kid." She said condescendingly, "I'm here to make a deal. It's in your best interests as well, considering you have nothing or will have nothing. No  _ **Family**_ , no money, and pretty soon you'll have no roof above your head in due time. We can provide you these things. All you need to do is sign some papers and follow me."

Tsuna grit his teeth, grinding them wearily. He was aware of his powerless ness but it had never been so apparent till this very moment. It didn't take a genius and some logical guesswork to know that the lady- whoever she was- in her expensive suit and commanding tone that he'd probably be dragged off even if he said no.

"And what if I don't agree?" Tsuna treaded carefully.

"You have no choice either way. We have the resources and influence to pick you off any orphanage or street if you do try to run. Make it quick, sign your name at the bottom left of the last sheet of paper in the file."

Internally screaming, Tsuna took off the pen clipped on the file with undisguised frustration and swung it towards the floor with a resounding 'snap!'

"Why don't you just outright kidnap me, huh? Besides, no document can legally bind me since I'm too young anyway. Kami, I bet if you're gonna do anything less than human experimentation on me I'll bite my own tongue off and swallow it. You look very evil, nee-san."

The woman smiled. Not the good kind either.

"How crass," She drawled. "Welcome to the Estraneo Famiglia, Sawada Tsunayoshi." And Tsuna knew nothing but darkness as bitter indigo flames swept him to a new level of hell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Depictions of the result of violence and human experimentation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a Kudos and comment if you liked it!  
> Happy reading!

**And I Wished for the Sky to be Clear Again**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own KHR nor any of the characters except my own.** _

_"Italics"_  indicates a foreign language. Italian, in this particular case.

"Speech" indicates the usual speak. Japanese.

* * *

Tsuna instinctively flinched as he felt his petite frame slump over a man's shoulder and grimaced at the treatment that had him feeling like a sack of potatoes. The brunet tensed and the man tightened the grip on his waist. With the blaring headache at the forefront of his mind, coupled with the invasive flare of lights, Tsuna was about ready to bare his teeth crying murder; but his body refused to move, he dumbly registered.

Fingers twitching, a flood of memories invaded the murky expanse of his mind. Bitterness, indigo flames, and  _troubletroubleyoubloodyjinxedit_. Questions popped into existence one by one, Tsuna didn't expect any answers but a panicked disappointment filled his heart against his will.

Weakly, he hit the back of the man that slugged him through a corridor decorated with naught a bland, pasty white. "H-hey… Let go of...!"

The man clicked his tongue in displeasure, but remained utterly silent otherwise. Continuing his clicking footsteps on the concrete floor. Tsuna wracked his brain from one end of a compass to the other. His mouth felt dry, like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. He hasn't eaten nor drunk ever since the news of his mother's death. The headache wasn't helping either; trouble was here and Tsuna was helpless to stop it.

His frustration grew.

Tsuna was soon shoved into a spacious room that looked an approximate size relative to his apartment. The walls and floored were tiled with a sickening shade of bleached white. A metallic table stood in its midst, and Tsuna forced whatever inch of fear that threatened to exit his throat down through sheer willpower.

The smell of actual bleach wasn't helpful by any means. His gut told him many terrible things had taken place here. He wouldn't be the first, nor last person to step inside this room and wished for any kind of deity to exist so that they could whisk him away from this hellhole.

Imagination gone awry, the brunet refused to curse. He couldn't allow any more control to slip through his fingers to the monsters that existed beyond the soundproofed walls. He assumed so because he heard nothing save the quickening squeeze in his heart. The young boy made his way groggily towards a corner of the cubic room.

Leaning against the wall, he slid down as he did similarly after his mother's funeral. Fear of the unknown aside, Tsuna was morbidly curious of what happened to Nana's ashes after he was taken away. Did the Estraneo Famiglia simply let the dead lie? Probably. And if so, will Namimori allow his mother some semblance of peace as she leaves the Earth to join with a table of Gods and Goddesses?

Kami, Tsuna really hoped so.

( _Hope_ , huh.)

As the brunet tucked his chin within the knobbly confines of his knees, the door opened with little more than the subtle sound of a shifting doorknob. Tsuna's head whipped upwards faster than a startled rat's sprint to safety- because that's what he was now, added a cruel entity born from his fear. Nothing more than a confined animal.

The voice sounded a lot like his.

A broad shouldered man appeared at the door after he closed it with an intimidating click. Tsuna screamed as his intuition screamed; in seconds, the boy scrambled to his feet. Voice hoarse as he nimbly avoided the pair of turquoise-gloved hands that chased him while he reached for the door after running one too many panicked rounds. The man slammed his body against the metal as he turned the doorknob. It was locked-  _of course it was locked_ \- and a hand roughly pulled him away by the collar of his newly changed hospital gown.

Tsuna refused to screech or let any tears fall as he is hanging- literally- by the thread of his clothes. A shot of ice made its way down the deep crevices of his brain as something inside him shattered into a million pieces like abused glass. A warmth was pulled from within, Tsuna's eyes unknowingly glowed with power.

Faster than his mouth could shut with a resounding 'clack' at the back of his teeth, the masked man burst into a symphony of orange flames. The singing of a thousand sorrowful choirs howled in the crevices of Tsuna's skull.

(Freefreefreefree _ **free**_ )

Three, four, five people entered the room dressed in heavy duty gear. Their identities were hidden with the presence of a dark mask that looked straight out of a horror movie. Tsuna was struggling against his new captors with the passion of a sun he knew he wouldn't see for a while. A blow was aimed at his head and it didn't miss.

The momentary chaos that ensued in the room was quickly made right when a needle was shoved into Tsuna's neck. They manhandled the boy into a position whereupon his arms were shoved behind his back, face pressed against the cool surface of the metallic table. Right then- the sharp prick of a tag-like earring for his right ear was carelessly pinned and Tsuna's body betrayed itself by falling into unconsciousness once more.

The monsters, he noted before a heady sleep took him, were speaking in a language he didn't understand.

Tsuna growled; strangely enough, for the first time since his arrival here, the mere notice of the foreign language had Tsuna feeling a raging anger in ways he couldn't understand why.

Was this even Japan anymore? He wanted to vomit.

Ashamed, Tsuna found himself mocked awake by the cold, unfeeling world for the second time that day. Or was it even the same day? He wondered idly. The pounding in his head had reduced into a slight throb; the brunet had an inkling of a feeling that it wasn't because he was out of danger, but for the fact that he wouldn't be able to do a thing about it even if he tried.

Grunting, the boy was strapped by his legs and wrists with a leather strap on a metal armchair without any the comfort despite the intended use of the device. The brunet's newest accessory by his ear swung idly from the drift in the air-conditioned room, Tsuna felt like one of those cows he saw on TV once, a dark swell of red-orange throbbed in his chest again.

His breath hitched.

Clicking his tongue, Tsuna didn't miss the show of humanoid figures wrapped by white coats on the opposite side of the glass panel from where he sat. There was even a panel of colourful, some even blinking, buttons before them. Their delicate hands that probably haven't had to work manual labour even once in their pathetic lives caressed the panel softly.

Tsuna glared at them the best he could. Face imitating the ones he saw the Yakuza nii-sans make when a deal went wrong. ("A fucking traitor within or midsts?!" He remembered hearing. The wisp of memory easily coming, people tended to not notice the young boy as he laid battered black and blue at the corners of their office; hands clutched at a wad of cash they tossed at him in misplaced pity.)

The brunet was unbothered to find out if they felt even a drop of fear that he felt when he saw the expression of unbridled hatred for the first time. Nobody fidgeted as far as he could tell, Tsuna wanted to see their accursed masks burn.

Two somebodies stepped in, Déjà vu coming in too soon. Why did his world turn like this? Tsuna mentally groaned. They started attaching him to foreign wires, pricking his skin as they embedded his veins with foreign fluid. The boy screeched, "DON'T TOUCH ME!" But instead of listening, Tsuna received a swell in his cheek for the effort. Neck snapped to the side as a callous-less palm met his face.

Tsuna flinched with every wire that met his skin, with every tube that continued to've hung in him like some puppeteer's masterpiece. 'No tears,' he mentally reminded himself. Not a peep of weakness. 'You've gone through the Yakuza and Hibari's, you will do it again with these heartless bastards.'

A collar, thin and sleek and grey, was locked on Tsuna's neck as his eyes widened from seeing a new bag of transparent liquid that traveled agonizingly slow from the tubes they attached into him. In what seemed like forever, all Tsuna knew was  _hurtnopleasestopstopstop_  for what felt like a million needles running through his veins.

He screamed, every pretense of false bravery dropped. And so the Sky wept.

Tsuna was considered underweight compared to a baseline of standards in Namimori. His size sometimes helped in keeping him unnoticeable and quick to run whenever he bothered to take attendance in Namimori Primary School. Once upon a time, the brunet was even proud to say that he'd outrun Hibari Kyouya when it mattered thanks to his smaller, nimbler frame.

The point was, he thought he was skinny and it hardly mattered because Tsuna wasn't weak, wasn't Dame. He could pack a mean punch if he so desired. Some low leveled Yakuza, the ones who dressed as gaudily as hosts, would vouch for him even. Yet, his confidence seemed to hold little more than a tiny candled flamed compared to the world that was of its own in this mildly crowded holding cell.

He'd stumbled in, trembling like some newborn fawn after the torture the Estraneo put him through. Dull pair of eyes, all ringed with each its own: the colour of the rainbow- they appeared to glow as Tsuna trudged unsteadily to an unoccupied corner at the back of the cell. Curling up as his tucked himself into a ball of pain and hunger, the children that ranged between the ages of his own and half a decade more unsettled Tsuna.

More than half of them were literally on the borderline of skin and bones. Not a millimeter of fat to keep warmth underneath their skin. Over half of the children had scars too large to be accidental - the imprint of leather restraints on their wrists and ankles, multiple needle marks on their necks and arms, messily done stiches, deliberate disfigurement. A girl in particular had no eyes; a bloodied bandage wrapped around her head where the sockets bled black through the cloth. His pain was but the beginning of it all.

Tsuna wanted to gasp when he walked through the lot of them, concern welling up despite his own sorry state that was nothing compared to so many of his newest cell-mates. Would that be him in a week or so?

The children seemed to shrug off their state like it was something minor. At a section of the cell, some kids were playing a game with pre-arranged hand signs. Another walked about restlessly, as if they couldn't just drop dead anytime. Tsuna thought he was skinny but strong, once. Yet, his resolution felt inadequate compared to the forest-fire of untainted survival the kids excluded.

His intuition blared, some of his compassion felt too personal for people he hardly knew.  _Unnatural_? Its childlike voice mumbled.  _Mine?_   _Mineminemineminemine **please**?_

What had they injected him with? Why was his soul crying for at least 2 of the residents within this prison?

('Sky,' a voice whispered at the back of his consciousness. 'My Sky, my home. Save us, let us fear no more. Make the pain stop. Please. I-It hurts, my Sky. Help us, and my Mist will belong in your sky until the ends of time. Until the earth collapses and the night mourns for those lost.')

Scarlet pain bloomed by his side as Tsuna's gaze flickered to whoever attacked him. A young boy stood before the newest resident of their personal hell; despite his dull blue eyes and greasy brown hair, Tsuna noticed the familiar smirk on his face. It was the expression of the oppressed weak that tried so very hard to regain any resemblance of control after their lives had gone to shit. Tsuna would know. Most of his bruises and wounds came from the Yakuza lackeys that deemed it appropriate to hit a child for their own well-being looked so.

 _"New kid,"_ the boy sneered. Although Tsuna hadn't a clue of what he was talking about. Understanding the second of confusion on Tsuna's face at his mother-tongue, the boy's sneer only grew wider.

" _Fucking bastard, bet yer another half-breed huh? Welcome to the family, I hope you like feeling hungry, cuz new bloods never get food- shitty freaks like you don't deserve it."_

Intuition sounding, Tsuna didn't need to understand his words to guess from the mocking tone of his attacker's tone that the boy just insulted Tsuna and implied that something bad would happen soon. And he was speaking in that language - the bloody language that he didn't know scrap about. The one reminding him with every syllable on another's tongue that he didn't belong here in a place that wasn't Japan, in clothes that wasn't his alongside a brain that kept telling him things he couldn't understand!

What in Kami's name was a Sky? A Mist? Why was it that the terms had never felt so  _right_  in his twice damned life?!

Why couldn't people like the ones in front of him just die? What would one possibly gain from picking on the weak than another reminder of their own powerlessness in the first place?

The boy could kick hard at least, the brunet admitted. Tsuna estimated him to be at least a quarter lighter than himself. Two lackeys backed the boy up, eyes practically soaked in jeer; smiles uglier from their emaciated appearances.

"Shutup." Tsuna looked directly in their eyes and said in Japanese. His childish voice echoed against the walls. More kids started starring at the foreign tongue, Tsuna felt some of their interests rising. Like a breath of fresh air after another day of pain and fear and the acrid smell of urine. Others felt disinterested but unsurprised. The boy was a bully, not a new one at that and nobody cared.

" _What the fuck did you say?"_  The boy remarked testily.

Tsuna didn't respond, allowing his flaring temper to build. Soon, he got up wobbling and socked the boy directly in the face. Punch made with his fists- clenched tightly, fueled with determined anger and frustration all the way down to his tiny, calloused, trembling fingers.

"I said.  **Shut. Up.** " The boy spat.

Someone laughed, Tsuna turned his head sharply at the sound. "Kufufufu. This is awfully cute and all. Language barrier and such, but let's get some Italian in you, shall we?"

Nearby, what sounded like a whiny protest followed right after. Almost immediately after the Tsuna's initial bully fell to his bony knees crying in pain, the ringing of a school bell sounded. The brunet dubbed, 'caretaker' (the man that carried him over his shoulder. Like a sack of potatoes he would  _kill_  to eat right now) stepped in; balanced on both his hands were stacked trays of food that shouldn't be able to pass for food at all.

The monstrosity was semi-liquid, looking like oatmeal but not. It smelled bland and Tsuna frowned as a bitter sigh escaped his lips. The heterochromatic eyed child laughed his funny laugh once more, giving a cheeky look towards the brunet. It was as though he was susceptible to Tsuna's strengthening resolve regarding his opinion on the potatoes.

The owner of the pineapple hairstyle glanced at Tsuna coyly. "Lunch. I hope you enjoy your stay here, Sawada Tsunayoshi."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Brief description of torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a Kudos and comment if you enjoyed it!  
> This work is proof-read by none other than yours truly (lol). Any mistakes will be corrected later when I find it, got time etc.

**And I Wished for the Sky to be Clear Again**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own KHR nor any of the characters except my own.** _

* * *

In the first place, Tsuna grimaced, eggs shouldn't taste like this.

The murky brown liquid seemed to stare mockingly back at Tsuna as he was required to lick his lunch apparent off the metal tray.  _That_  particular detail had the Sky scowling. They weren't provided with any cutlery, you see, go figure.

It wasn't helping that his tongue computed the taste as 'eggs', but his brain thought  _on the contrary_  through the perceived image of his soft brown eyes.  _Eggs_ , Tsuna repeated in his head. How on Earth does one fuck up making eggs? Even the Yakuza nii-sans didn't have it this bad. And he'd know considering his position as a taste tester every lucky occasion. Formal or informal.

(Even the Estraneo's water tasted like shit. Tsuna absently wondered if it was his bias against them talking.)

The warmth frozen within the Sky's chest flickered through the cracks of its prison. It offhandedly suggested that it was (highly likely) the man in charge of their living arrangements to be blamed. He was a paranoid bastard, that one. The brunet would've scoffed if he hadn't also known that even plastic spoons may prove dangerous if used right.

 _She was dressed in white_ , his mind brought up. With dark eyes and an even darker hair. Her chosen weapon was a gold plated spoon, she used it to scoop out the eyes of her victims whenever she felt particularly playful.

The short haired assassin liked Tsuna for some odd reason; always cooed at his 'super cute' appearance given the opportunity and gave him orange flavoured sweets if he smiled. No one ever bothered him much when she stopped by the Yakuza Office for a visit.

The Boss was her brother-in-law apparently. They were also drinking buddies on friendly terms.

A third of his income as a glorified gofer came from her. It didn't matter how much the bleeding bruises underneath his shirt hurt, for her he'd smile even while trudging glass. Teeth glinting underneath the stale white lights and all.

Money was important, okay? Nana needed it more than he ever would anyway. She had enough trouble getting a proper paying job as it was; people refused to hire a rumoured whore. Pregnant at 16, her husband dead within half a decade. They called her a scheming gold-digger behind Nana's back.

(Tsuna had pulled a hat and mask on and proceeded towards an attempt to stab a plastic fork into the filthy, cheating, two-faced slut's eyes. Unfortunately, Hibari Kyouya stopped him before any real damage was done.

They had a good traditional brawl after that. Tsuna escaped with his life, terrified out of his wits but grinning as bright as the sun. He outran  _the_  Skylark and Kyouya didn't even  _know_.)

It was the stress, the doctor said, when Nana coughed blood for the first time; and told the single, poverty-rid mother to rest. They advised her to lay down and be monitored carefully in the hospital. For  _days_.

But their little family had bills to pay and food to put on the table. Nana took a vow to make ends meet no matter the cost. Tsuna was all she had left and more. She pretended not to know when he skipped classes, adamant on helping out with the chores after she's left their home for work.

Tsuna wanted to laugh, Hibari Kyouya had never looked so conflicted.

The fact he loved his mother more than life and health itself didn't even make it a question before he was to be up and all for selling his organs by the first sun. He shook his head as something ugly whispered by his bony shoulder that Nana hardly even looked at him anymore.

Never out of spite, though. It's just, sometimes, balance proved hard to maintain when you were a single-mother as loathed and busy as Sawada Nana.

The Sky was a big boy now, Tsuna told himself in the mirror daily. Ignoring the protruding ribs that moved up and down as he simply refused to spend the pocket money for a lunch he could manage two more days without. Let nobody claim that Tsuna couldn't be stubborn if he simply wished it so.

He understood the circumstance and will love as fiercely as ever. Nothing will ever be too big a sacrifice.

Even after death, Nana would never know of his frequent trips down the red-light districts where he built a dysfunctional familial relationship with the Yakuza and thousand yen whores. Everything and anything to ease the burden for his mother just a little.

Buying his own take-out dinner, making his room and his Mama's, doing the chores; he's helped maintain morally questionable businesses with what limited education he had; the source for his take-out dinner cash marked him for involvement. Rival gangs thought he was the illegitimate son of the Boss he worked with.

When Tsuna loved, he never half-assed it. As the all-encompassing Sky, even at a young age, Tsuna held the world in an embrace. Hugged it close and gentle; arms still too skinny, but he carried it with pride nonetheless.

The dragon that flied freely among the clouds stretched along back and shoulders attested to that.

_Nobody knew how the Boss's sister-in-law talked a child into it._

_Nevertheless, Tsuna was theirs' now._

Tsuna found himself accompanied by the boy with pineapple hair for the next few minutes (which felt like hours because he counted). The dastardly done eggs still in his mind.

The oddly eyed boy introduced himself as Mukuro Rokudo. The surname said with particular gusto; as if possessing one was a feat in itself. Tsuna found something akin to pity well up within him and squashed it immediately. Boys like Rokudo didn't do well with pity.

The brunet learnt that his latest language teacher was not only fluent in Italian, but Japanese and a good other 3 languages as well. Lowly, the pineapple head muttered sombrely to himself about living more than a few lives to have managed that many tongues. Tsuna filtered that out, obviously. It clearly wasn't going to do his mental health any good.

Anyway, Tsuna also learnt that language fluency otherwise, Rokudo also possessed an admirable count of 2 lackeys that were extremely protective of him. Admirable, considering the shit hole they admitted to have been stuck in till the neck for almost 3 years to count. Tsuna had experienced only the lightest shave off the iceberg apparently and honestly, the Sky wanted to burn someone.

Food wasn't the only issue to contemplate now. It was the least important on The List actually. Tsuna wasn't originally a picky eater anyway. He may've whined a lot however internally, but living on the streets for at least one week taught him to be appreciative of whatever he got without much complaint. Much, keyword. Tsuna found a loophole in the rule, but he digressed-

Time didn't move faster and the now hourly lessons in Italian never got harder either. The language slid smoothly off his tongue as if it were exclusively for his use whenever Tsuna bothered to be conscious of his accent. He'd hidden it artistically well, to top it off alongside his foreign appearance, Tsuna was confident to be able to pass off as a foreign blooded local child at least.

The experiment only got worse from that faithful day of first meetings and shitty lunches onwards, though.

No one was ever allowed even a moment of rest after breakfast and an hour before dinner. Tsuna still shivered at the memory once he curled upon himself after dinner. Beaten and battered. Dragged out of his cell without even a flare on warning from his companionable gut feeling, it was like even his instincts knew better than to tell him to brace himself. He wouldn't be getting out of here for a long time after all.

They'd drugged him and strapped him down on to a metallic table. The skin of his wrists were scrapped bloody with the extent he struggled; despite being woozy from whatever they injected him with, Tsuna wanted so desperately to let them know that he was capable of feeling pain. Not that they'd care, but everything just hurt so much.

After his pointless flailing toned down a notch. Tsuna distinctly remembered the feeling of a cold metal blade dig in his skin. From the base of his forearm to his wrist. They cut him up while he laid still and there was red everywhere.

They were waiting, looking for something. A masked monster dug into his- literally- opened forearm. His large and bloodied gloved fingers curled, Tsuna arched in tears. It just hurt so bad.

He was used to the pain, but not the aching helplessness that came with it. Knowing, but never being able to act on it. He was stuck here completely exposed. All the way from his greasy unwashed hair to his protruding ribs and toe that he stubbed two weeks back; in which the entire nail fell out and was still growing.

His back had arched instinctively and someone landed a blow directly where his liver would be. Tsuna felt his breath come short even in a semi-paralysed state and he heaved.

Coughing weakly, he expected to see blood spit out, but the taste of iron wasn't present.

Another blow.

Another cut.

Who knew flesh could squelch like hand-made slime. That, and crimson looking black underneath the blinding lights.

The blade was dragging, cutting deeply through a network of nerves that had his brain moving on full alert.  _'Pain!'_  It cried.  _'Do something about it! Get the fuck AWAY, for one.'_  Tsuna couldn't.

At the very least, the sterile equipment and room made sure that an infection would be unlikely, for now.

"Please," Tsuna wanted to beg. "Please _please_ _ **please**_ \- NO!" A small device was inserted into the gaping surgical wound; a chip, his Intuition provided. Someone pressed a colourful button from where other monsters stood outside The Room; wearing their pristine clothes that didn't reflect their hearts or souls at all. A zap of green electricity pulsed through Tsuna and the Sky screamed.

(Somewhere, in his own room of torture, Mukuro Rokudo flinched. His flames flaring in unwarranted distress. Thankfully, the scientists hadn't noticed. They loved it when their problem child feared them as much as they did too; but he's learnt for years already how to keep it at bay.

One day, Mukuro swore, revenge would never be so sweet. Right then, his body failed all its functions and his consciousness drifted into another life that was his to make.

'Kufufufu, blood and war. How fitting.')

"So how was school?" Mukuro asked kindly. As kind as his tone could be, anyway.

Sprawled with all of his limbs outstretched on the stale grey floor of the shared space, Tsuna's eyes didn't widen from its narrowed state even when Rokudo appeared from seemingly thin air. looking down at where he was, the older boy's face was fixed into a smirk even through his own battered state. Bandages were wrapped around his eyes this time, fresh blood stained the cloth in small red patches.

Neither Chikusa Kakimoto nor Ken Joshima flanked his sides. Tsuna wanted to ask where they were but "What?" the brunet responded instead, annoyed

"Kufufufufu- we had bread crusts this morning so everyone's having Biology classes today during first period. In 20 minutes, you'll have to be ready for etiquette class, no?"

Getting up, "What do you mean?" The Sky cocked his head curiously. A soft throb at the back of his mind. He squashed it as the flames inside his chest pried an escape to mingle playfully with a fairy of indigo flames. Speaking of which, Tsuna still didn't know scrap about.

Subtle wasn't even a word in their books anymore. It'd only been 2 days since he discovered his flames, Tsuna couldn't control the eerily sentient thing even if he tried. Said indigo flames belonged to Rokudo himself if the way they reached out a thick tendril didn't make it obvious enough.

Strangely enough, he hadn't appeared to notice the slight slip of his resolution responding to Tsuna's own.

 **We want this place to burn**.

Chuckling, "I mean, little Tsunayoshi," the red and blue eyed boy said mysteriously. "that you should grit your teeth for the hour to come."

Right as he finished, strongly built men came hurling in; dragging Tsuna away as his limbs had barely any strength to twitch out a flail. "What? ROKUDO!" He screeched. "You... Hey! Don't touch me! Let me... go! SHIT!"

The room he was brought to was not kind. It had the same stale walls and tiled floor. Even without the metal chair, Tsuna lacked precious time to feel unsettled. Men and women alike started barging in one after another. Their eyes may've been hidden underneath a pair shades but Tsuna felt the determination practically roll off their bodies as they struck him till he heard his bones crack.

Sadists were picked apart from the purely curious. Tsuna hated both. It didn't stop him from trying to memories the particular twisted ones that gleefully aimed for his liver or head. They'd pay, one day. A suffocating smoke of anger promised.

They calmly delivered harsh words while they abused his curled state. Tainting his esteem with taunts that hit too close to home; the 'doctors' spat on the memory of his mother. Memories that were too personal for anyone to know. They called him useless, powerless, disgusting and much more. Tsuna knew that the words of strangers meant nothing, but his brain wasn't having it.

The monsters were doing something and he was trapped in his own mind. He still registered the physical pain that came with it, yet it hadn't felt a fraction as painful as compared to the live play-out of his mother cursing him.

Shrieking cruelly, it was  _Tsuna's_  fault her husband left them. His fault she had to work till the bone, his fault Nana died without even a proper burial to be seen to.

Why? Tsuna wanted to ask lamely. Why him?

His Sky flames- despite being oblivious to it still- thrashed weakly. The Sky wanted so badly to feel afraid and upset but only a vengeful rage filled the corners of his lungs. The growing heat sealed poorly within him ate through its prison with the ferocity of a cornered beast.

He just felt so angry. So, so, angry. He didn't want to be here, nor did he want to take part in all this bullshit. He didn't want his Mama to die or to be threatened and helpless against it. He didn't want to hurt anymore and even stranger still, he was very tempted to punch Rokudo in the face for not warning him of the labelled 'etiquette' treatment until the very last minute.

Internally, he knew that the pineapple haired boy wasn't to blame. Nevertheless, Tsuna brushed off the thread of common sense with a slight twinge of guilt. Whatever, he'd just punch the smirking bastard first and ask later.

Betrayal wasn't something new to Tsuna. He wanted to laugh in spite of it all; to be disappointed or betrayed meant that you trusted the other party to an extent first, right?

Tsuna hadn't done  _trust_  since his Iemitsu left, so what made Rokudo so special? Just because he taught him Italian?

Because their flames played 'I throb, you pulse'?

The Sky wanted answers, damnit!

Etiquette class, first. Right. Tsuna still couldn't connect the dots at the stamped title. What kind of cling at normalcy was this? How was  _this_  etiquette at any given point of time? Did they beat submission in this way to something? -Tsuna wondered mildly, desperately, to turn his eyes away from the figure in front.

Nana's image in his head glitches eerily.

One moment, she spoke kindly. Tone soft and warm and everything Tsuna needed, really. Next he knew, the single-mother was fallen to her knees sobbing. Blaming everything on the son she claimed to love like no other.

'I love you, Tsu-Kun, but maybe it would've been better if you weren't born at all."

Mama was  _smilingsmilingsmiling_.

Her son held his tears and choked when he attempted to do so for a pained keen yearned to leave his chapped lips.

Tsuna's insecurities would've liked a rest the same time Nana's had her own permanent version of sleep. The people behind the glass window pane held their solid boards, scribbling away notes- the Sky's eyes were glowing once more. Expression twisted into something so ugly as he physically shuddered between reality and illusion.

The Estraneo's scientists would rewatch the recording of  **Sky: Flame Awakening**  repeatedly with undisguised fervour later on. Upon further observation, they'd realise Tsuna's orange were found to be tinged with an ugly violet.

Dignity wasn't even a thing anymore when your injuries started to ooze puss and the location of the injury placed itself in a spot way too close than what was comfortable. Or so Rokudo said, as he ran his dirty hand through Tsuna's greasy hair.

"You knew and you didn't tell me?" He blamed lamely in exhaustion. Eyes covered with one arm.

"Kufufufu, you're mistaken, Tsunayoshi. I did tell you in the end didn't I?"

Tsuna's eyes ringed purple as he leapt upwards and gave the punch of his life. The air left Rokudo's lungs as he was shoved back into the wall. Huffing, the Mist laughed dryly. Hackles rising. "Being angry doesn't change anything. I don't owe you  _anything_ , boy."

Tsuna flinched.

"I KNOW THAT!" His head dropped. "I just..." A sigh-

"I'm sorry, Rokudo."

Scoffing, "Apology accepted, but not forgiven nor forgotten." The Mist said cockily. The familiar smirk decorated once more on his face. It looked as fake as the one the Boss wore when he met a disgustingly arrogant client. "Showers are every 3 days, dear Tsunayoshi. Come, I've yet to hear you speak a proper line of Italian."

The younger boy nodded stiffly, and took his hand towards Rokudo's own. Mukuro looked slightly surprise when Tsuna led his hand to his collared neck, breathing steady even as the Mist tightened his grip.

Tsuna smiled and Mukuro felt a shuddering chill travel down his spine.

'Forgiven, then; but not forgotten.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE!  
> Who am i kidding im so tired tbh


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reading!  
> Leave a comment and kudos if you liked it!

**And I Wished for the Sky to be Clear Again**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own KHR nor any of the characters except my own.** _

* * *

Thinking about the past was an excellent way to keep himself occupied, concluded Tsuna on his  _nth_  night. Minutes, hours,  _days_  simply melded into each other whenever the sun wasn't allowed to visit wherever they were. Neither the night and its chilling embrace, nor the stars or the blinking lights of flying planes. Nothing beautiful reached here. It was an awfully sad thought. Hopeful, some would suggest.  _Dangerous_.

The meals twice a day weren't any indication for the time of day at all. It didn't matter anyway, he shrugged. Tsuna wouldn't trust them to not screw with his and the other children's already fragile skulls in the first place; not like they had any reason to actually do so in retrospect, but still-

His distrust for them climbed higher than Mt. Fuji. Tsuna wouldn't believe the Estraneo even if they told him that Italy's sea was blue. He might've been just a little dramatic, but it was valid cynicism at this point. The brunet had yet to see the mafia's homeland, after all.

Gradually, Tsuna's tired senses drifted him to think about the Yakuza nii-sans and nee-sans where he'd built an arguable concept of  _Home_.  _Familiar_.  _Any where's better than here_.

The group Tsuna hung with had been relatively powerful, if not the most powerful in Namimori. Half of them hated Tsuna, although funnily enough, it was the upper echelons that liked Tsuna well enough.

The whores adored him though; and Tsuna was not exactly proud to say he's learned to moan like an A-grade porn star during his time spent with them. ("The brat's fucking ten, woman. Fucking chill it with the noises." a gruff voice said. "Shush. Our Tsu-chan's simply adorable no matter what, okay?" A feminine squeal followed.) They had a weird sense of humour, Tsuna would admit.

He knew almost every affair behind closed doors in exchange, however, so the trade-off had been  _so_  worth it.

The red-light district's nee-sans were always the scariest to piss off. It was a wonder how it wasn't already a globally known fact. Many important individuals (will, and,) have fallen from the gleaming strings that've attached themselves to their well-manicured nails.

Tsuna digressed-

More often than not, his cash and injuries belonged to the lower, impolite rankings of the gang (Tsuna had heard their reprimand of never amounting to anything more in life than a lackey- even  _that_  they fucked up.

He was curled at the corner of the Boss's office, nodding off. Shame and anger bled from their bowed heads and clenched fists. Tsuna's look of understanding only made everything worst. Jealousy clouded their eyes as they beat him with an unfamiliar rage, the money clenched in Tsuna's hands were from sympathizers.)

It never helped when Tsuna growled and snapped. The men only hit him harder. Tsuna distinctly remembered feeling nothing but glorious pride when he managed to knee two someone(s) in the privates that one time. Instant knockout.

Nana, of course, was less than pleased when she found out. Perhaps also a little disappointed and relieved at the same time; the boy hadn't bothered to hide the bleeding bruises or wounds on his arms and face, not even an excuse to ease her worries left his lips.

It was honesty in its truest form.

Tsuna would tell no lies. What for? In a way, her son wanted her to be aware of his little co-curricular activities and she knew he knew she  _knew it_. It was an open secret that Tsuna longed for Nana accept that he wasn't weak. They didn't need the man his Mama called his father.

The old men in suits never gave him hard cash, they offered him gifts instead. A new shirt, maybe the occasional meal. One sick bastard wanted something else, the memory of after the sicko cornered Tsuna came out as a blank space. He decided he didn't want to know.

Every material gift, such as a watch or simple bracelet Tsuna sold. He asked once, "Why?"

_Because you deserved it._

They didn't answer, only smiled like that old man- 'Please, call me Nonno.'- that came home with Iemitsu years back. Tsuna knew that it was kind, but he'd pretend it was because they never stepped in whenever their minions beat him within an inch of his life. Guilt worked in mysterious ways.

Yet, Tsuna could still say he had mixed feelings when it came to the Yakuza. He liked half of them, maybe. And the other half weren't really worth his time even if they made up one fourth his nightmares.

Point being, even after all of that, the Sky couldn't hate them.

But the Estraneo, something about the Famiglia tasted so very black. Bitter. Putrid. Like thick, viscous tar he had to swallow. It burned the back of his throat, made his eyes water. (Tsuna couldn't _breathe._ ) Even on the first day, Tsuna knew he hated them on instinct already. The feelings were valid, no doubt.

It had him pondering on principle nevertheless.

Some days, the brunet suspected it was someone else's hatred that bled through and not his.

The baby Sky had a bleeding heart, after all, in all the ways that mattered. Anger only lived so long.

/

Being afraid of Hibari Kyouya was more of a habit than anything else. Deep inside, Tsuna suspected his fear was born of his young mind clinging desperately at the last strings of normalcy that once was.

He admired Hibari Kyouya, Tsuna decided randomly one cold night. The brunet couldn't sleep; kept awake by nightmares he didn't remember. No light reached the deep enclaves of the cell the children shared. With his hands behind his head and body throbbing sharply all over, Tsuna turned his head over to Rokudo who he thought slept peacefully.

The demon prefect would've hated someone like the manipulative boy, an instinct fuelled by numerous parallel worlds graced smilingly. Their rare moments of indulgence let Tsuna know that the two would never get along. Famously so.

(They were two carnivores under the same Sky. Cloud and Mist were practically the same if you investigated their substance alone. The irony was not lost in Fate's eyes.)

Hibari hated crowding and rule breakers. Rokudo Mukuro was many things and a rule breaker at the top of the list. Tsuna wanted to have both their strengths, though. He was just so weak, helpless to've done nothing but cry for the pain to stop all this while.

Anger aside, a restless grit of frustration invaded his head too. He needed power, first of all. The cold weight on his neck grounded him, strength, the flames. He needed to utilise something of sorts to get out of here before they broke him. Kami, and it'd only been less than a week. The kids that lived here for years deserved everything after he got them out of here. The brunet was tempted to ask Rokudo for help, the boy had enough hatred and cunning for it.

Would he, though? The downfall of the Estraneo Famiglia was personal. Like, really, really personal. Not sadistic by any means, Tsuna quietly decided that there was a first for everything. Kindness was expensive in a place like this, the price to pay came in strength. Something he lacked at the moment.

_Violating warmth covered his chest, his arms and legs. Their rubber gloves rubbed against his scarred skin. They pushed and pressed, veins barely popping as they held down his weaker, though no less desperate, form. He was trapped, no one heard his cries._

_Help! He wanted to plead. Yet one could only cry so much before their throat went dry; before their tongues are pulled. A voice for a voice, one binding for another. He wanted their freedom, their empathy. They will know what he felt when they cut him up like common fish and dented his skull with their careless hands._

_It wouldn't be fair for him or the others otherwise. They deserved justice, too._

_Tsuna yearned for so many things. Were they even in his reach to start with?_

Resolution biting, Tsuna knew that growing strong and biding his time overtook Estraneo  **BURNING**.  _Stay low_ , his gut provided.  _We're not ready yet._

Tsuna believed it.

/

Okay, Tsuna sighed. Glancing at where Mukuro should be in this pitch black place. (Surprisingly, he noted, Chikusa snored whereupon Ken didn't. Little things like these made him smile.) First things first, Tsuna knew he needed to prioritise in reigning in his temper. It wasn't making it any easier on his mental health whenever he butts heads with Mukuro even though the brunet knew he was the one at fault in the first place.

Additionally, Estraneo also made etiquette classes to quell the spirited ones, he learnt when Rokudo outed. Or should it be Mukuro now? The boy certainly helped him quite a bit. Shaking his head, 'Bad Tsuna; no, Tsuna.' He chastitised himself.

The self-control thing was  _not_  for Rokudo, but for self-development. It'd even help majorly if he didn't stand out all the time because he'd sacked someone for trying to take his soupy eggs away. Mukuro couldn't possibly effect his decisions one way or another; not at all.

Meditation! He exclaimed excitedly to himself. Outward appearance relatively stoic. He'd meditate and try to find inner-peace and some shit like that. Closing his eyes, Tsuna hummed. An arm elbowed his sides lightly, "Quiet, Tsunayoshi." Mukuro grunted.

Tsuna rolled his eyes in response. "I can't sleep." He hissed grumpily. And felt the exact millisecond Mukuro smirked when he 'oh'-ed with mirth. "Should I help you then." He offered with false kindness.

"No. I'm busy."

"Nothing some good old Mist can't fix."

"What  _are_  those, actually."

Mukuro gave a questioning hum, "What do you mean?"

"Those flames." Explained Tsuna. "I keep hearing things about a Sky, Mist, weather forecasts and I know they mean something but I don't know what. Like one moment those freaks from Estraneo are dragging me by the fucking collar and the next I'm on fire and  _they're_  on fucking fire and  _ **everything's**_  on fire and I don't. know. why."

The Sky was rambling, but heck if it stopped him from finding out more on any form of power he was to get his hands on.

"Kufufufu, sleep, Tsunayoshi. I'll explain to you tomorrow if you survive Chemistry class."

"WHAT?!" Tsuna shrieked. Shrivelling faster than a plant exposed to fire when he felt at least 5 pairs of eyes on him. Glares sizzling his back in piercing disdain.

Stupid newbies and their uncrushed spirits. Sleep was precious, nightmares were for plebs. One sun user took note to teach Tsuna how to douse himself into a self-inflicted Flame coma to help the nightly terrors. It worked, and that was all that mattered, for the most part.  _Every day_  was a long day ahead after all.

/

Tsuna bristled, lips twisted into an ugly snarl. He absolutely despised Chemistry. It was relatively tame at first, to say naught of it; the scientists simply strapped him on a familiar metal chair and blood-works were taken constantly. They checked his heartbeat with their beeping machines and stuck as many tubes as they did when he first arrived.

Rokudo was wrong for the first time round. Chemistry was a snitch- he could do this for-fucking-ever.

It wasn't until they took out their bags of multi-coloured liquid did Tsuna regret everything he'd thought of for the past 20 minutes. How could he have bloody  _forgotten_?

4 bags later, the brunet was tossed into his cage a whimpering mess by the time they were done with him.

Whatever they put into his veins made him squirm, it made his body squeeze out cold sweat like a melting ice cube. Tsuna was crying blood. Shivers wracked his body and a solid, warm hand tested his forehead briefly. Mukuro laughed when Tsuna glared ever so slightly at him, cheeks flushed in comparison to his pasty complexion. "It gets worse after your first class." He nonchalantly added.

"By the third class they'll inject Ebola or something else into you and record the speed your flames burn it off. The younger ones don't always survive." Commented Chikusa solemnly. He was frowning after his own class of- Tsuna glanced at Mukuro- was it Physics...?

("He's a fucking Sky, Kaki-pi!" Ken waved a skinny wrist, "practically royalty. Mafia bastards won't jostle him around too much." He ended bitterly.)

"What's Ebola?"  _What's a Sky?_  Tsuna accidentally said soon after; and swore his Intuition sighed in confusing disappointment right after. What in Kami's name-?

"Kufufufu, he doesn't know about Ebola, Chikusa. Young thing he is."

Tsuna grunted, soft but rough. "Whatever. Now tell me about the flames, pineapple head."

Mukuro's eye- the one coloured like the most stunning of rubies- twitched.

After that, Mukuro ignored him save for the daily lessons in language. Italian was more or less down already. Russian and French at the same time, however? The brunet wanted to cry.

And hit someone. But that was frowned upon in their confined space. Plus, he made a silent promise to himself to reign in his temper. Deep breaths, Tsuna. Deep breaths. Languages, plural, were always a useful tool to keep in one's pocket. It'd only serve him well by the long term.

Despite what anyone else said, Tsuna didn't think he deserved it. Okay, maybe a little. His own hairstyle wasn't anything to be proud of. Especially since it started getting brittle from the lack of proper care. Healthy brown sheen lost, too.

Then there were crusty bloodstains after a good day of physical torture that was  **The Worst** , Tsuna exasperatedly mused. Considering their once-every-three-days shower policy, the brunet contemplated asking that kind-hearted house mate if he'd be willing to burn off his hair painlessly with those yellow flames of his.

He didn't. But Tsuna learnt sleep better now when knocked into a self-inflicted flame coma or so they called it. The practice couldn't be healthy, but who was anyone to judge.

Thus let it be known to all the test subjects of a Famiglia that indulged in human experimentation, the recipe for 5 hours of peaceful sleep was the dousing of approximately a lung-full of flames right into one's brain.

(Effects may be negated if the user was flared with improper amounts of foreign flame, though.)

Anyway, Mukuro did the entire Flame and Resolution 101 explanation in Russian, switching to French somewhere along the way and Tsuna just knew it was to spite him. Yeah, so he was still stumbling over the language, but he's made incredible progress after only 2 weeks of learning. Already 3 weeks had gone by since his meeting with Mukuro, something light and giddy fluttered in Tsuna's chest.

/

It was day 45 (Mukuro counted; how he kept time, only Kami and the boy himself knew) when Tsuna popped his first kill cherry.

Contrary to popular belief, spending copious amounts of time with the Yakuza did not equate to becoming an inspiring cold-blooded killer. True Yakuza rarely ever resorted to murder; blackmail, bribery and unconventional negotiations were a given considering their occupation, but it rarely ever escalated to murder.

There was no denying the lower ranks liked brawling to sort out an appropriate hierarchy, but the higher ups were more cunning with an ironic penchant for honourable deaths than uncultured violence. Sure, they weren't averse to it if it got the job done, but it was more likely to find yourself in debt rather than in a ditch, dead, somewhere. How else were they going earn money, otherwise?

Heck, Tsuna had witnessed- more than once- a few of the top geezers dressing themselves in a t-shirt that said 'Make love, not war' in varying colours as sleepwear (it was a business trip and the humanoid snakes gathered under the same traditional inn). The boy almost went hysterical.

Tsuna was familiar with violence in his life, but not murder.

The fact he took a life seemed to settle like a particularly bad dose of cough syrup. The corpse before him wasn't going to get up anytime soon. He made sure of it. Just like that, the initial bully from whence Tsuna first arrive would fail to see the next sunrise or grow to learn that violence didn't mean control.

He emptied the contents of what little was left in his stomach. Mukuro watched on thoughtfully.

The cell was strangely silent for the next few hours. Even after one of the orderlies came to take the body away after roughing up Tsuna for a bit.

It was an accident. Tsuna said lamely to himself. He didn't mean to get the guy killed- he didn't even get his name, fuck- the boy was just so insistent in picking on Half-breed Tsuna and it'd been a particularly bad day so the Sky lashed out and next he knew the bully was in the floor gasping, heaving, after Tsuna covered his fist in flames and literally dragged his heart out.

(Tsuna didn't kill. His Mama didn't raise a killer. She raised someone kind while excusing his strange fascination with power that shouldn't've evolved to  _this_.

It's like he didn't even know himself anymore.)

The muscle landed on the floor with a oddly ominous 'squish'. Tsuna had never felt so repulsed by something. Someone. Himself. All the way from his face marked with red, down to his soaked hands and bloodied clothes. He had been looking down at the remnants of the mess he made. Chin dropped. Gradually, Tsuna looked up. "Mukuro." He cried, voice broken and frail.

The Mist felt his flames surge. 'Protect!' It begged shamelessly.  _'Protectprotectprotect_ **ourSky**! HIDE HIM! WE ARE OUR  **SKY'S**  MIST."

* * *

_Creating something from nothing, and nothing from something; thus bewildering the enemy, to render the famiglia's true form intangible with visions of deceit._

* * *

Mukuro blinked once, mismatched eyes filled with confusion. Behind his eyelids were a flash of indigo. When he opened them, he observed that everyone-  _everyone, even Tsuna_ \- in the cell had fallen asleep.

Outside, an alarm rang loud and true. It'd been blaring; alerting of the Estraneo that someone had overload its sensors with flames. The safety precaution had been breached. Loud, echoing footsteps echoed in a frantic march outside the isolated room.

Arms full with the forlorn Sky, Mukuro laughed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Bond forms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment and Kudos if you enjoyed it!

Unknowingly for dear Tsunayoshi, a bond snapped into place. Home, it sang. Thank you (no, thank  _you_ ).

Home was where the hearth is. Would Tsuna accept Mukuro in his baby Sky? All the good (his Chrome), the bad (the scars, hatred, anger,  _REVENGE_ ), and the ugly (his eyes- made upon towers of bodies)?

Unconsciously, Mukuro's Sky did, but the boy himself was still a mystery. The prickliness of his attitude weren't ideal in figuring anything out for the time being. 'Not for long.' He thought giddily. High on the comforts of Home, the Mist admitted to feeling just a minuscule bit tipsy.

A myriad of blindingly white clad men and women came barging in by the time Mukuro could gently place his Sky on the cold concrete floor. They were armed to the teeth, which was rarely, mused Mukuro; it wasn't everyday he saw the scientists get their gloved hands dirty.

"Mukuro!" One of them barked, voice booming; face red and fixed into a nasty snarl. "Withdraw your flames this instant, boy! Or you won't like it by the time I'm done with you!" Mukuro recognised that voice. His dearest uncle, he mentally spat. If it weren't for that pig of a man, he wouldn't even be here in the first place.

The boy inwardly sneered. Who could defend his dearest sister Nagi if not Mukuro himself? Because of that greedy scum worth nothing more than the dirt beneath his feet, he could've been free! Away from this place and protecting his sister that actually meant something in this tainted, ugly world.

Tucking in his chin, Mukuro closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He needed to be calm to solve whatever dilemma his dearest Sky accidently threw them into. The boy opened his mismatched eyes whirling in flames. The number 'six' appeared to glow underneath the dim lights.

Smirking, the boy fixed a resigned expression as he raised both hands up in the air in a mock act of surrender; if anyone bothered to look any closer, they'd see the sparkling lights of cunning gleam. Murder was always worth a shot when it came to fixing particularly troublesome problems. Yet, Mukuro was anything but stupid, so he stayed his hand. Mist twitching in response.

His collar had never felt colder. Death via a thousand cuts for his uncle suddenly felt too kind. Perhaps shoving the fucker (actually, make that everyone in the accursed Mafia) in a Brazen Bull would ease the restlessness in his heart? Mukuro was careful not to glance at Tsunayoshi as he slept. The unconscious boy will not be used against him.

"Kufufufu… grow up soon, baby Sky." Murmured the Mist grinningly.

With his new-found potential, Mukuro was sure he could get himself, his Sky and his cute little minions out of this shithole in record time. They'd only need to wait for a while longer, lay down compliantly in false submission before Mukuro struck.

The Estraneo would get their due and so would the entire Mafia world. Mukuro had every intention to enact revenge or die trying. Prevention, by the long term, worked ways better when one wished to cure a plague in comparison. Besides, he'd already crawled his way through five lives, what more than to end the sixth with actual purpose and in a memorable 'Bang!'?

Not like he actually had any intention of dying whilst on his hatred-fuelled conquest, but his resolution roared proudly.

Large hands roughly pinned him to the floor, surrounding him. Mukuro was made to hack dryly when a sharp knee aimed itself fright into his liver. Flames were alit as dull Sun flames worked to wake the knocked out children. Fellow Suns groaningly woke up faster than the others, then came Lightning, Cloud, Storm, Rain, and Mist. Ironic, if you considered that it was Mist flames that brought them down in the first place.

Ruby and sapphire eyes gleamed worriedly for a split second when Tsunayoshi didn't wake. Mukuro barely bit back a growl as one of the women in the group kicked the frail body rudely. She had a baton in her hands as she prodded the Sky wearily after multiple failed attempts to bolster him awake with Sun flames.

He wanted to uncharacteristically rip the bitch apart with his own teeth. How dare she! Mafia did not even deserve to kiss the ground in which his Sky walked! Wisps of his Will escaped the careful clutch their owner wrapped them in, the woman was out quicker than the wrathful strangle of one of the guards that accompanied the Extraneo scientists could react.

"The boy will wake soon." Mukuro said testily, smile leaving little to betray him of his nerves. "My apologies, it would seem that I lost control for just a little when I played."

Nobody (intelligent enough) looked convinced at his excuse for flaring the alarm. Mukuro had his collar changed in result of this fiasco. It came with an electrocuting function this time, alongside a tracking function and pulse monitor. "C'mon ladies, gents. We'll leave now. Watch yourself, Mukuro." One man, fair eyed and hair blond, crossed his arms grouchily. His subordinates and fellow colleagues followed him out mindlessly, trailing after unlike baby ducklings after their mother.

Ha! The 13-year-old wanted laugh. It worked to his benefit that his captors were so naïve in their security after a case of stamped emergency. Bitterness welled up behind his tongue- if so, then why haven't they escaped yet? Sitting down before Tsunayoshi's body, "Breathe." he whispered lowly to himself, voice ever raspy. Mukuro always had plans. He was just abiding his time as his powers grew.

As he saw the unconscious body at his mercy, Mukuro sighed in a rare moment of visible weariness. The other children were still groggy and out of it, he could afford the momentary show of weakness. Reaching out for his flames, Mukuro scanned the body carefully. Indigo met a molten orange, the Mist could've sworn one of their Flames whimpered.

It was Tsunayoshi's clearly. Mukuro Rokudo did not  _whimper_. Flames or not; and especially not consciously.

'Still, why isn't he waking up…?'

Finger twitching, Mukuro least expected feeling a tight pull at the core of his stomach before something twisted, leading that felt suspiciously like soul to literally warp out of existence.

He had lived 5 lives and was currently striding for a glorious purpose on the sixth. Mukuro knew what an out of body experience felt like, but this was a whole new experience. To start with, whenever he had to leave this particular earthily plane, there would always be a best described anchor weighing him down whenever he went off gallivanting. That reliable presence seemed to disappear into thin air.

As much as he detested to admit it, the boy had not a clue on getting back to where he should be before appearing into this God-forsaken place where even the sun didn't exist.

Which brought him to the second part of his problem. Mukuro didn't know where he was.

A frigid chill tingled across his pale skin. He looked to be in a quaint town with pale grey walls framing the path he walked aimlessly on. The weather was dreary, snow fell continuously. The street lamps were off, but it looked to be about midday with adequate lighting even without the sun.

Mukuro felt nothing but cold. His garbs were already thin, pitiful at best. The snow, ice and dry winds seemed to stretch for an unnatural winter. Something about this place felt fundamentally wrong, and Mukuro hadn't the heart to even ask himself why. So, he walked soundlessly in the empty streets with grey skies overhead, arms crossed tightly across his chest. The silence was eerie.

//

Soon, he arrived to a line of neatly aligned houses. Each had two stories and identically small, greenish-blue gates that only got rustier and rustier after each home. Their walls were a soft yellow lined with stripes. Mukuro noticed that the air was less cold here, he stopped by one of the curious houses when it pulsed weakly with warmth and familiar orange flames.

Wilting grass, yellowed without life in their leaves. The large tree outside an opaque window was in no better state, as was any other greenery. Yet, snow didn't pile as much in this house's backyard. The scent was faint, but Mukuro knew the smell of well-cooked food wafting through the air.

The pineapple haired adolescent hadn't doubted his senses for a long time (as a Mist, one would think it came with the job description, but Mukuro was just  _that_  good), but he thinks he heard the faint tinkle of laughter come from beyond the closed wooden doors.

The gate opened with a screeching creak even without his touch. They invited him under its roof, Mukuro felt curiosity well up from deep within, but his Mist told him to hold. This particular place was not his to settle, 'Walk,' they shakily whispered. 'Home is where the hearth is.'

So Mukuro obeyed.

Sawada Residence, a name plate read. It belonged to the house he was denied entry into. The Home that wasn't  _his_. The Mist tucked the name cosily in the crevices of his mind. The name was important, his 5 lives worth of experience told him.

Gradually, the town seemed to come to life the longer Mukuro wandered its streets. The sky had been an eyeful of soft and greys and silver, but now it brightened ever so slightly. The cold didn't fade, though. A grim line pressed on to Mukuro's lips. What was he meant to find? Was this Tsunayoshi's mind? The house earlier had his flames.

Head up, he gradually passed a few more houses and parks and buildings alike. There had been a sushi store that gave off a similar, yet so different, feeling as the soft yellow house from earlier. But the image flickered when Mukuro stopped for a quick look; it danced in hues of wispy blues as though it weren't sure of its place in Tsunayoshi's mindscape.

Then Mukuro passed by a building- a school- that read 'Namimori Elementary' in bold letters. It was warmer here, a gentle embrace of orange melted the snow that piled an inch too tall. Mukuro needed to find out what the pattern was.

It shocked him when the imprint of a bird- a young Skylark- soared the skies above the school. Instead of the usual browns and whites, it was made from lines of fading violet. The bird had too sharp eyes, too smart. They were deep and dark; a predatory glint shining. Namimori Elementary's own little guardian angel. Unfortunately, it was not what Mukuro's Mist wanted, but its mere appearance intrigued him.

Normally, no life would exist outside the creator's own in their mindscape. Plus, those flames… they were a Cloud's. Did the boy make unintentional bonds without noticing before he came into Mukuro's hands?

Mukuro continued walking.

Unknowing to him, he missed the lane near the river where the Sun would rise. He'd stay unknowing of the compounds of a school where a Storm would form alongside the Rain. The Skylark at Namimori Elementary nested cosily in a land where it'd wait till its wings grew larger, stronger. Trilling softly, only then would it fly higher than ever in the Sky.

For what felt like hours since his arrival, Mukuro finally stopped by a place battered by time called Kokuyo Land. Here! His flames warbled excitedly like a child. This is Home!

Indeed, for the air was warmer than it ever was compared to the other places Mukuro stopped by. Mist shrouded the large piece of land with glass caves and stone pavements. He explored the newest discovery eagerly, coolly strolling its spacious lands.

Reaching into a darkly coloured building, Mukuro sat on the couch placed conveniently in the middle of a room twice the size of the ones the Estraneo conducted their twisted excuses for experiments in. the cotton covered casing felt soft, it made Mukuro smile.

There wasn't even a stray drift of cold in Kokuyo Land. Instead, Mukuro felt warmwarmwarm that he latched on greedily without remorse.

"Ciao." A soft tenor behind him suddenly said.

The boy in question jumped. Not visibly, he denied strongly. Tsunayoshi looked older when he turned to look at his Sky.

"Tsunayoshi."

"Do you like it here, Mukuro?" the Sky asked with a gentle smile. Eyes glowing like polished amber. They were all-knowing. Tsunayoshi was looked at him and he knew he saw  _everything_.

"Kufufu," He laughed, unnerved. Mukuro suddenly had this strange urge to cry. His Sky was acting… strangely. The buy gave off Harmony in waves from his person alone. The calmness unsettled, rather than comforted Mukuro. "Aren't you going to ask how or why I'm here, dearest Sky?"

"It's my mind, I know stuff." The younger boy shrugged. Eyes smug when he clicked his tongue nonchalantly.

"You weren't waking up." Mukuro informed him anyway. "we need to leave quickly before our gracious hosts notice something different. I suspect that my body would be void of anything by now."

Inching closer, "Look at me," Tsunayoshi's face suddenly turned serious. "I know, Mukuro."

The elder boy tensed, expression tight. "Know what?"

"You. Me." he traced a circle with a finger. "Most of it."

"DON'T TOY WITH ME!" Mukuro suddenly lashed out like a tightly coiled spring let go. Irritation flashed across his sharp features. "Out with it."

Tsuna's eyes softened, his hand reached out to cup Mukuro's cheek. His thumb tracing the outline of the older boy's dry lips. "Our Bond, my Mist. I can feel it. You're mine now."

"So?"

"I am your Sky. I'll accept everything of you," The younger boy kissed Mukuro's cheek. It almost made the Mist flinch. His Sky looked at him as though he held the secrets to the universe in his mismatched ( _ugly_ , builtupontowersof bodies) eyes. Pure adoration was what he saw in his own reflection through the windows of Tsunayoshi's soul. "The  **good** ,"  _A smile_. Kokuyo Land started to repair itself. Soft indigo painted its formerly rotting walls.

"The  **bad** ," Green came to life, Mukuro was only slight aware of the cushion beneath him that seemed to transform into satin fit for royalty. The edges of the couch's frame turned t gold and it was warmwarmwarm.

Small (fragile) hands ran through his dark blue hair.  _Were those tears?_  A trembling sob left someone's lips. It wasn't his. They really weren't. "And the  **ugly**."

An ear-splitting 'SNAP!' and there was a pull at his belly once more and Mukuro was  _twistingwarpingturning_ in the flash of bright, blinding lights. Instinct kicked in, Mukuro inhaled sharply as they were kicked back into reality where everything was possible.

_(Home, at last.)_

Mukuro shivered as he was shoved back into his body. Tsuna, as though in response, groaned awake. The pair were soaked in sweat, cheeks flushed with scarlet exertion. Tsuna choked out a laugh, he laughed and laughed until his cheeks and stomach clenched. "We leave for Japan in two weeks, dearest Tsunayoshi." Smiled Mukuro. Genuinely, to everyone's amazement from the recently dropped dead Mist.

"I want you to meet someone."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Life seems sometimes like nothing more than a series of losses, from beginning to end. That's the given. How you respond to those losses, what you make of what's left, that's the part you have to make up as you go.”   
> ― Katharine Weber, The Music Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy.

"Are you fucking insane?! We'll be skinned alive if the Boss finds out, deepshit!" Someone howled.

"You'll stop fucking talking to me like that if you want your precious fucking secrets hidden away from prying ears, Giovanni."

The sane one of the pair, as he'll puff out his chest with pride to have claimed the position, groaned into his palms cold with sweat. "You don't understand, Dr. Rokudo. The repercussions of an unofficially agreed surgery by the higher ups on an underage Sky is practically suicide. If- no-  _when_  they find out about our involvement in this case, you can kiss your fucking money and life goodbye!"

Dr. Rokudo scowled with displeasure. He shoved his fellow scientists like a child in a sandbox, clicking his tongue as the man fell backwards. "In the first place, we wouldn't even have to do this if the Estraneo weren't already running out of funds to provide us."

"We are under major scrutiny for conducting  _illegal human experimentation_ \- in which we are  **still**  continuing despite the first (and only) warning I might add. Of Vongola-damned course they'll have to keep it hush and shallow with the funds. If the Vindice find out…" The mere thought sent shivers down the man's spine at the mention of the Mafia's own self-established police.

"Oh shut your fucking trap."

Giovanni wanted to wail in misery. Oh, his promotion- position- his everything will be ruined if he or the stupid buffoon were caught.

Swallowing a whine that threatened to leave the confines of his mouth. "Is this about your nephew?" Giovanni accidently blurted instead.

The man in question turned his head where he had his back turned to his worried partner. "What?" The man snarled. "I understand if the reprimand wounded your (pitiful ego) reputation for the past week, but this is not the time to act rashly. Please, Dr. Rokudo, petty cash is not worth a Sky." Giovani tried to say amicably.

"The brats deserve it." The pot-bellied man grunted. Taking out a burner phone from the pocket of his pristine lab coat, "Come." He flicked his wrist to indicate Giovanni follows. "I have a team ready, the client wants the Sky's organ in 2 days. Tops. You'll get your fingers dirty if you don't want the Estraneo to find out whose coffee you've been pissing in."

Giovanni ran a hand through the sandy forest that was his hair and bit his lip forcefully. Orbs of blood trickled from the slight wound. "This'll bite us both in the ass. I fucking swear it."

Quietly, they exited the tense confines of Dr. Rokudo's office. All indication of their meeting disappeared with the click of the door's lock becoming undone.

 

Waiting for two weeks were words easier spoken than done. Unlike what Mukuro first assumed- which wasn't often, but the slight panic that came with a fallen Sky that was his affected him more than he'd thought, unfortunately. Nevertheless, the Estraneo did in fact up their defences and security shortly after the dubbed 'Incident' days after.

This... changed things. However minor.

Tsuna felt himself grow weary after the first two days since their implicit promise. It seemed as though the Estraneo tired of their kiddie gloves as they literally tore into the young Sky one fine dreary day. Honestly, the young boy had long given up understanding their intentions behind their actions, or giving excuse after excuse that their experiments couldn't  _possibly_  get any worse.

Such naivety on his part. Bitterly, Tsuna scolded himself while hot tears ran down his cheeks. Breath unable to hitch even if he wanted to.

His body was laid out like a particularly stone-faced doll on a workshop's steel table, you see. Every limb was cut off its strings; eyes glazed over glassy, even if he was aware and alive. How could a person forget that when they took another one of his cell-mates to pick apart and prod at? To dunk in ice-cold or boiling hot water just to see how their flames reacted? To break (important, so  _important_ ) Bonds like they meant nothing for their own sick amusement in the name of science.

Unforgiveable. In a scuttling bout of insanity, Tsuna found himself wondering- wondering, as a knife came close to his chest. Tracing its sharpened, polished blade down the visible lines of his sternum to his stomach- if anyone in the Famiglia even questioned the developments that took place in their labs. Was there even a single Kami-blessed soul that understood how fundamentally  **wrong**  human experimentation was?

Tsuna understood where his sceptical, calculative, everyone-but-a-select-few-were-scum-mind-set founded from, yet deep inside, there was still a child barely 11 that still believed in the good of humanity. That child was going to die very soon at this rate life was going; Mama's own precious little Tsu-kun. Dead.  _Dying_. Childish innocence from before Iemitsu's disappearance squashed like an insignificant fly.

In a quiet place filled with ice and snow, Tsuna's flames keened sorrowfully. Strangely knowing of the events that was soon to take place.

He was supposed to become strong. Crying for help wasn't an option anymore. Yet, the anger he normally excluded like a bristling hedgehog just wouldn't stand to be summoned that day. There was an all-consuming fear instead. Tsuna felt every single clutch of purposefully dulled (though no less painful) pain as the scientists cut his stomach open for whatever reason. He felt and heard every squish that came with them taking out his insides organ by organ.

Orange flames licked the insides of their owner frantically. The twisted bastards made sure he wouldn't die from the shock of pain itself. Their masked faces were stilled in fascination and Tsuna wanted to rip them apart himself.

He tried to focus on the crinkle of sterile plastic they placed beneath him at first, but the sound from his  _extraction_  apparent was an awful lot like the heart Tsuna dropped in what felt like aeons ago. The boy had never been so empty. It wasn't even the pain that had him crying. The feeling known as despair bubbled wildly. It was like rape. He hadn't understood at first when the whore nee-sans told him; he did now.

The Estraneo were taking so much; they've taken too much.

(I want them to die. I want them to suffer. I want I want I want.

I want to take their everything. They will  **never**  have Mukuro.)

Tsuna refused to allow himself to grovel or beg for release- inside or outside- to just kill him and be done with it. It would be too selfish for his Mist; he had someone to protect now, see. Tsuna would save or destroy the Earth for his Element. He only needed to ask.

Tsuna had not much more to give, after all.

/

Mukuro wanted to feel something, anything when he discovered of his Sky's predicament. The rational and colder part of himself that he often relied on, told the adolescent to find out Why, When and Who.

The more emotional aspect of himself- which he's just realised to spending more time indulging in, wished to slaughter everyone and let bygone be bygones. The only exception being the vast, bottomless hatred of the Mafia of course, because those weren't just bygones to let go. Mukuro had a mission he was ready to die fulfilling.

_There had been white, white, white._

_Red- blood. Black- staples and stitches._

_Tubes and (more white. No, stained-_ redredred _) blankets._

_His Sky. Sleeping. Mukuro almost allowed himself to cover up his ears when the rhythmic beeping of Tsuna's heart-monitoring machine seemed to mock him with every beat._

Mist travelling, better known yet as an out-of-body experience was something Mukuro had been practicing. Plotting aside, it was always safer to have more tools in one's pockets and Mukuro wanted to surprise his Sky at his progress.

It was supposed to be nothing but an innocent ( _Rare. Never again_.) thought for Mukuro to visit Tsuna during one of their 'classes'. As the Bond grew stronger, Sky and Mist could share both mind and body. Neither could stand exposing their pitiful states to each other at first, but sometimes the pain would feel too much and so they'd decided that perhaps it'd be better if they'd had someone to support them in their darkest times.

It helped greatly when both  _understood_  what it felt like when the pain started to warp itself into something unrecognisable after all; when the sensory overload of nothing but hurt threatened to shatter young and old minds alike and replace it with something malleable and submissive. They'd vowed to never break nor bend. Not under the hands of men and women that were less than human.

The ones that weren't so lucky to find an anchor for the pain always transformed to something ugly with glassy eyes and hollow smiles. They became nothing more than a poorly pieced marionette that would be anything to be given more lies. It could be cannibalism, cold-blooded murder, sex.  **Anything**. Empty promises were fed to their minds and the broken ones always fell for it hook, line and sinker even though everyone knew that empty promises were just that. Empty.

_Tsuna was wearing a mask that helped him breathe. It clouded with every weak breath he took. While his eyes failed to open even open his presence, Mukuro let himself appreciate the porcelain features of his young sky before his eyes trailed down to Tsuna's neck, chest and stomach._

_Tsuna's blanket that were sinking in_ _**a bit** _ _too deep._

_Eyes widening, the heterochromatic boy hurriedly flipped the blanket over and off of his Sky when his eyes were greeted to a morbid sight._

_So many- too many- stiches. They'd literally threaded his torso closed. Neatly done lines formed vertical and horizontal centipedes all over. The sleeping boy looked like a hand-stitched doll._

_His ribs were protruding, but that was normal in this hellhole. It was the stomach that felt like a punch to Mukuro's gut; stitches aside, there had been_ _**nothing** _ _to keep the skin from sinking._

_Mukuro wanted to puke. They'd taken his organs. How was he going to live? Mukuro thought frantically. Was his Sky just going to die off like this? Without a complete body and with nothing but his hatred and the beeping machines?_

_Equal parts afraid and enrages, he scoured the area with no Mist left to waste. It was the most efficient thing he did with his flames since forever ago. Not a lick to trace him back with because there was very little that weren't used to calm him, search for a perpetrator and look after his Sky._

_He found the scum in record time._

_It was his uncle, and some man named Giovanni who he wanted to tear apart in equal measure._

_They did this because of him. Mukuro had almost nothing left inside because of Mukuro. He didn't know what to feel._

The Mist decided to allow the rational and colder part of himself take over instead.

He had dead men to tattle on.

/

Tsuna screamed when he found out that his 'surgery' was unconsented by the top rankers of the Famiglia. Even if he were kept on bed rest alone with an impossible amount of machines supporting his life (his body, empty. They took everything), Mukuro had access to him through his mind where Tsuna found out the reason behind his predicament.

The ice melted slowly, but surely- as the pair of Sky and Mist seethed like Storms.

Unwilling tears of anger rolled down Tsuna cheeks as he was informed that it was Mukuro's bastard of an uncle that went behind whoever the hell's back to perform the operation on the Sky for  _funds_ \- thus quoted, 'A Sky's organ's would fetch a high price.' Situated in a room painted a soft indigo, Tsuna punched the cold concrete walls until his knuckles scrapped and bled.

His demise was enjoyed by parties no better than scum beneath his shoeless feet and even then, they didn't deserve to touch him. Money otherwise, another half wanted to open up a new ( _new_ ) project that tested on organ replacement based off flames than blood type a as a deciding factor.

Mukuro was torn between cold anger and unfounded guilt. His uncle hated him, it wasn't a secret whenever the man made life particularly difficult if his name was on the duty roster they had when it came to testing his powers.

To have taken Tsuna's organs was a new kind of low that resulted into an anger Mukuro had never experienced before. His dearest Tsunayoshi was a Sky. He was royalty. Plus, even if Mukuro didn't usually indulge in the boxed concept, numbing rage, sadness, and guilt seemed to pierce through his skin like the icy floor they slept on.

For being so helpless. To have not taken his Sky away before the wrongs he's had to suffer. Mukuro would have to be strong-  **stronger** \- for himself if not his Sky.

In the quaint town of Namimori, Tsuna's mindscape looked vastly different from Mukuro's layered own (each to represent one life). The heterochromatic boy caressed Tsuna's trembling cheek as the younger boy grinded his teeth and looked down at the bleeding knuckles.

"It seems that we'll have to put off our escape, dear Tsunayoshi. You'll have to get better before we attempt anything near the downfall of the Mafia. Rest now. When you do, I'll try my hand with healing whatever's lost; my Mist flames should be able to recreate a new set of organs that'll be fully functional as long as I don't die."

Leaning in to the open palm, Tsuna nodded jerkily. "I want all of them to suffer before we end them, Mukuro." He then stated, darkly casual. "Am I cruel for wanting that?" the boy tilted his head. Mukuro could only smile kindly- a rare, enchanting sight, thought the younger male. "No. I want them to suffer too." came the reply that left the Mist's lips. 'It'd be nice if he smiled more.' thought Tsuna as he laughed brightly at Mukuro's response.

Tsuna was finally starting to see their days turn for the better already.

Therefore, like Mukuro suggested, he'll focus on getting to whatever optimum of health he could achieve before teaching the Estraneo what it meant to turn their backs on their humanity.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S ALIVE!  
> Thank you so much for the wait Ch 7 is now up. Happy reading~

Classes had ended. Clutching his fist close to his chest, he looked to be in prayer. Tsuna was sure familiar school bells rung.

Harsh puffs of warm breaths left their chapped lips in gushing clouds. A boy with barcodes on his cheek grunted, unused to the physical exertion. He had been a clone, another product on the shelf, and the only one left of his three other genetically identical siblings. His captors had told him once, that boys like him weren’t real and they’d never be as strong as the others.

His lifespan was limited too, living on borrowed time from an hourglass made of plastic and dirt. Yet, with the wind kissing his face as he reached for the horizon, Chikusa couldn’t bring himself to care about his weak legs and weaker lungs. They were out now, and that was all that mattered.

His hands clutched at the yoyo preciously. Mukuro-sama’s first and only gift to him. Not too far away, Ken muzzled himself with jaws of a wolf.

They were running and running and running.

As far as their little feet could take them across the cold field of grass and snow. Into the woods where creatures unknown lurked. Tsuna knew about the squirrels and wild butterflies, of deadly bears and silent owls. Mukuro had said they’d be asleep at this point of time where the season was naught but snow, Tsuna still insisted he’d protect them anyway.

The rough fabrics that adorned their malnourished frames fluttered behind them; the air was cold and crisp, but Tsuna’s lungs were burning.

He could barely believe that the pain made him smile. Mukuro’s head jerked when the joyful thrum in the Bond was blown into something akin to thundering ecstasy. In front of him, Tsuna was suddenly laughing as they ran with their bleeding feet cut from twigs.

‘Why’re you laughing, little Sky? What has caught your laughter so?’ Mukuro found himself wanting to ask; because even beyond the ecstasy, there had been an underlying sadness. Mukuro was curious, sadness shouldn’t have a place in the Sky. Not when they’d just crawled out from Hell itself.

“We’ll continue going north, there should be a cave a bit more to the front.” The boy with eyes like jewels said out loud instead.

 ** _Run!_** was all they heard. _We’ve found freedom and we’re aiming- reaching- towards it with energy we shouldn’t even have. What’re we burning in this cold, if not our enemies from across the field far, far away?_

Ken howled underneath the shifting light of the moon obscured by heavy clouds. Tsuna wondered if his mother was happy to have tea with the Moon Goddess up in Heaven. If the skylarks felt lonely back home, if the whores wiped their bodies clean and thought of him.

_(where only once, Tsuna wiped their tears dry while they told him he made them feel clean again)_

//

His hands trembled as they hovered over Tsuna’s body like an aimless bird flying in the sky. Only, Mukuro didn’t think he would’ve looked just as unburdened. He felt lost, somewhat afraid, and worst of all- **desperate**.

The constant beeping wasn’t at all helpful either; it only continued to fray at his nerves. Jumpy and twitchy, Mukuro displayed impressive self-control to have not growled or snarled like Ken on a bad day.

Mukuro stared sombrely at the steep rise of the climbing line on the heart monitor. He needed the distraction as much as Tsuna needed his _insides-_

‘Godamnit, Mukuro!’ he immediately hissed underneath his breath. ‘Your pathetic attitude isn’t going to fix anything!’

Temper aside, the only thing that kept him from storming off like some impulsive Lighting was the fact that dead men had no future. The scientists _will die_ by his hand. Or his Sky’s, Mukuro wasn’t picky at this point. Years’ worth of stewed anger rippled throughout his Flames in evidence.

Tsuna twitched in his sleep. Mukuro wrestled in his flames like some baby Active that couldn’t tell wield their own Flames to save their lives.

Mukuro might’ve been physically 13, but sometimes- most times- he felt much older. Rational reasoning going past his brain like two opposing bullet trains, Mukuro grew more and more doubtful of his reckless, risky plan to regrow his Sky’s organs from scratch.

The boy even said as such out loud, letting the words reach his ears. “I am Mukuro Rokudo. Brother to Nagi Rokudo and Mist of the encompassing Sky, Tsunayoshi. In less than 3 hours, I will be…” _Fuck, he was going insane!_

To start with, although he may act as if he knew everything, the older was boy was mature enough to admit that he didn’t. Mukuro was more of a Mafia information broker kind of guy; the kind that knew a person’s deepest, darkest secrets through means only known to him.

It was one life skill Mukuro understood; he’d gained it through a lot of blood, sweat and tears to adapt and survive a cruel and unjust world. The Mafia world.

Point being, Mukuro didn’t know much about biology in its raw, single-celled glory. He’d learnt some facts along the way, but not enough to simply just gloss over (important) details for the entire re-creation of a life-supporting system like he’d been replacing organs since he was born!

How many organs _were_ there in a human body? _What_ were they? _How_ do they work?

How many of Tsunayoshi’s had been taken? Would he still survive if Mukuro fucked up a little? What would be the price for his mistakes?

(And what if he accidently ruined Tsunayoshi’s immune system. He would’ve saved his Sky from Hell itself, only to see him die from a simple cold or a cut that was exposed out in the air for too long.)

Had Mukuro been a lesser man, his brain would’ve exploded from the onslaught of self-doubt and question that flowed like a never ending stream. The boy ignored the part of his brain that told him to put down his arms because they ached. He only lifted them higher, the soreness felt grounding.

The human body was made from a ridiculously complex network of connections. Both physical or not. Mukuro remembered hearing from someone that people held electric in their veins- and they weren’t talking about Lightning Flames.

His promise was starting to sound more and more like a death penalty for both Bond and Bonded. Tsuna might be an encompassing sky, but anyone would become hateful if his situation was made worse than it already was.

He sighed, in the end, and let his Mist **_dream_**.

(“A flame coma.” he remembered Tsuna whispering with wonder, stars in his eyes as though their unconventional method for keeping night terrors away held all the secrets in the universe in its wispy tail. “Sweet dreams.” Mukuro had smiled. They had none.)

Tsuna was remade on the cusp of a dusky autumn evening, 13th October. It had been the month where lies were made into truths and the dead would have been stamped to have no dust to return.

_‘We will leave with our dying will.’_

A seal broke and Flames roared.

//

Giovanni was afraid.

Things weren’t supposed to end like this- not in the midst of a raging flame without life. No soul nor dying will behind its untamed ferocity. He sat petrified by the sight before him, surrounded by naught but a lifeless tainted orange licked with hints of yellow.

His hand, bleeding from miniscule cuts swiped the floor for anything he could find to save himself. There wasn’t anything, clearly. Giovanni was stuck in this room that smelled of smoke and death and this is how he was going to die. Lips trembling, at least he wouldn’t live long enough to feel his body become charcoal.

Let the suffocating air take him first.

Giovanni would’ve thrown a fit if he weren’t so terrified waiting for his unavoidable death. Joining the Estraneo Famiglia under hushed handshakes was supposed to make him great, better. Why had it come to this? The man wanted the cry out hoarsely. Just where had he gone wrong?

(Bright eyes widened as a tongue of flame nonchalantly approached. It looked alive with the way it seeks to kill him with anticipation rather than a proper burning. It was getting _closerclosercloser_. Giovanni hurriedly backed up, shuffling pathetically as his dress pants smeared black.

His back knocked painfully into a shelf. Like his entire life, it came crashing down loudly, too.

Giovanni knew it sounded insane, but he could’ve sworn he heard footsteps and the echo of a haunting laughter fill the hall beyond the room he was trapped in).

At first, it was because the Vongola hadn’t appreciated him enough. They refused to see how his creations could make them great and he was only allowed to stay because of his father’s legacy. Then the whispers of demons of his own making started to pop up like weed.

He lived so deep in his sire’s particular shadow that betraying the Vongola felt better than tinkering with a new creation. They all laughed at him, the man reasoned. Spoke badly behind his back when they though he didn’t know. Giovanni knew, in fact, since the first sentence with ‘ _disgrace’_ and _‘useless’_ in it. And all of a sudden, he felt reality hit him like one of his father’s greatest weapon in creation.

The world wasn’t as kind as he remembered before his father’s death. 

Perhaps dishonouring a relationship worth generation was what had karma lashing out at him like this.

It had hurt a first to see the Estraneo so cruel to their subjects they went smashing through basic human ethics like glass, but the exchange- the respect- had been too good for Giovanni to do nothing but stand by.

Holding the scalpel had never been his thing. The Estraneo members always insisted though, so he couldn’t spit out deniability as a possible out if they were ever caught.

If anything, his sin was one of inactivity. That, and not karma, will be the reason why the door was smashed open and a boy- Mukuro, his mind supplied- came in grinning with a madness akin to wildfire in his eyes saying “Kufufufu, we found him, dear Tsunayoshi.”

He felt every single incision that sliced its way through his stomach and into his intestines as the boy with eyes the colour of the sunset slowly eviscerate him with pleasure shining like a fucking beacon. Giovanni felt a glob of blood make its way up his throat and _out_.

Witnessed- forcefully kept awake- the way his guts spilled like stuffing from a teddy bear with its stitching undone. Giovanni vomited an unhealthy burn of bile and spit as the baby Sky forced his hand into his body and squeezed the first thing those little hands got their fingers on.

The squelching was what made Giovanni heave and sob dryly. His mind was too far gone to register the pain at this point. Mukuro then suggested taking his eyes and ears, saying he didn’t need them if he wasn’t going to use them. Giovanni would’ve asked why if he were more lucid, but deep inside the man understood.

They’ll take his eyes because he’d seen what they’d done and did nothing; take his ears because he’d heard and done nothing. Inactivity was his sin, even if the boys hadn’t known him personally. Anger was clouding their flames now, dancing wildly, freely, they’ll get revenge now even if it was the last thing they’d do.

Giovanni vaguely heard Mukuro laugh ‘traitor’ and ‘Vongola’ seductively into his ear but there were his insides spilling out- turning _inside-out_ -  and it was making terrible noises; _stopstopstop_ the man wanted to cry with the last strands of reality he had left, grounded by pain and blood. He doesn’t, their anger dried the tears all up.

Dying, Giovanni soon felt- now wasn’t that becoming a problem, feeling too much? - a jagged intrusion into his mind. Mist Flames, they were mind raping him. No. nonononono and information came flooding out like gushing faucet; As was everything else, including his childhood memories growing up, his ambitions, his insecurities and the memory of where he gets his release from back alley hookers.

The monsters called him weak through it. they claim that Giovanni’s fraction was only a fraction of what they’ve felt. The man called them liars with what mind he had left.

Bleeding out, Giovanni remembered in his final moments how cold their fingers were when they cut off his ears and punctured his eyes. It had been a death worse than the Vindice Giovanni warned the Estraneo about.

//

Run.

Run. Hurry up.

_Ignore the thorns in your lungs._

Run, run, run.

There’s a town close by, their leader says. Just a little further.

_Ignore the survivors let free, don’t think._

_Run._

They see a building, made of chiselled stone. It looks old and grey with chipped paint. Someone in their merry band of little escapees smiles. It will be enough.

“We need money.”

“We’ll pocket it off the locals then.”

“Flames?”

“No, the Vindice will come after us.”

_Ignore the flashlights behind that threaten to trap you within their glaring **white**. _

The group of children soon meet a teen with sharp eyes that introduces himself as Lancia. He tells them to follow him back Home where they’ll be given food and drinks and a place to sleep. The children aren’t used to such selfless kindness, so one of them snarls and growls. 

Ruby and sapphire eyes meet a pair of amber. The group follows Lancia- _Mafia_ \- back in the end.

_Rest now, ignore the troubles that plague your heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes will be corrected in due time owo.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sneak peak on the other side of the world where the Skylark flies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy~ Leave a Kudos and comment if you liked it!

Namimori Middle School was covered entirely in frost and ice. From the miniscule screws in its gate’s hinges, all the way to the baseball field encased in frozen fences that looked _brittle_ , against his better judgement. He didn’t know what to make of it at first, but then replaced the intrigued confusion with something more important.

Kyouya was flying. Crisp air running through the sleek shape of his mottled wings, sight sharp with a clarity that felt twice as strong from when he last recalled. The prefect tilted his feathered body and thrived in the feeling of the smooth glide as he landed on top of his school’s roof top.

The young skylark gave a resounding cry and scowled internally when it sounded pitiful even to his own ears. There were no herbivores to herd, nor any upcoming secondary consumers he could find in order to train. The place was empty and desolate and dark. this was not the Namimori he knew; it was anything but the one he was born to protect.

It wasn’t long before Kyouya took off into the sky once more, a sharp drift running directly into the nostrils on his beak. He circled Namimori from above, aimlessly scouring for something he could not understand.

Nowadays, Hibari Kyouya dreamt of an endless winter.

On constant repeat, always taking shape in between the slight shifts in his mind. The prefect built his mind scape in the form of a traditional Japanese house, closely structured like his current home.

The floors of his main rooms were made of tatami mats, spacious and well kept. He’d be enjoying his sixth sip of green tea when cold mists would trickle up from the gaps in the tatami, dragging him into a world that never warmed.

Kyouya wanted answers. And whatever he wanted, the Hibari made sure to get. It didn’t take long before he started reducing his frequent naps till they were infrequent. Within the several past months, there wasn’t a single alley that the prefect hasn’t gotten his eyes on.

Namimori tensed when its protector grew frustrated and carefully, wearily, she held her breath. Sakura petals were afraid to fall when Kyouya passed. Fear sunk heavily into the bricks of Namimori Hospital, the prefect became more irritable than usual whenever he caught sight of needles or scalpels or anything white and wearable.

Because whenever he’d go to sleep, his dreams made sure to familiarize what helplessness and fear felt like as Kyouya was strapped down a table as he screamed in a voice than didn’t belong to him.

Needless to say, people worked fast under his ire and reliable Tetsu was _not_ an incompetent herbivore. Very soon, the prefect caught wind of the Yakuza dons that propagated somewhat somberly in their dealings for the past few months. The bacteria rated growth was suddenly shoved into the freezer.

Activities moved at a snail’s pace, like the higher ups spared more time doing something else than raking up profit and slithering about in the underworld as fast as their scaled bellies could carry them. The red-light districts were quiet despite business moving as usual. Strangely, time appeared to crawl as fast as tar compared to the brighter side of the town.

Once, Kyouya personally went to bite one of the higher ranking underlings to death for information. The rat sniveled as he keeled over with froth staining the edges of his mouth. The beady eyed pest said that the bosses were mourning. Kyouya couldn’t comprehend the words, the snakes had feelings for something apart from money?

The Hibari returned to the manor that day with irritation itching beneath his skin. He gripped his beloved pair of weapons with enough strength the bend iron, the young teen was quickly, soundlessly, making his way to his quarters when his carnivore aunt approached him with a sharp smile filled with teeth.

“My cute little nephew,” She started. Kyouya narrowed his eyes, reluctantly (wisely) ignoring the label; he wasn’t strong enough to beat her yet and the carnivore wasn’t in a good mood. “Hn.” The male Hibari grunted, posture still but weapon held in preparation to strike if she did so first.

Saddled in a petite form drenched in the scent of blood enough to scare a Jiangshi to return to its grave, Kyouya’s carnivore aunt held back a dry jab to the rare showcase of obedience. The boy _ad_ tact, contrary to what a lot of people thought.

“We had a deal,” she drawled. “Keep your teeth out of the matters pertaining the Yakuza, Kyouya. They are mine.” Carnivore aunt snapped, composure maintained nonetheless.

( _They might know something about—_ The Cloud wanted to growl.

_\--is missing, my ___ is-_

_I need to get ___ back. My anchor, the ___.)_

All this while, Kyouya had been searching. He’s prowled up and over every inch of Namimori he could squeeze himself in and he’s even crawled up trees to gain higher ground with instincts scratching at his face like some feral cat. They’ve been trying to tell him something, but Kyouya has been missing the message all this while.

When Kyouya slept, he didn’t normally dream. And even if he did, he never remembered what took place. But _this_ , this constant flight and lift off from a roof whose tiles couldn’t even be felt from beneath the layers of snow, it was supposed to be another type of sign. Another clue Kyouya kept missing uncharacteristically.

Kyouya was a Carnivore. Protector of Namimori and a Hibari. Everything was right there and there would be plain **dishonor** on everything he stood by if he couldn’t figure this out.

One moment of silence was all he needed when a face painted with brave fear flashed through his mind. In the compound from where his body stood, his carnivore aunt had left as soon as the prefect started spacing out into the gardens.

Kyouya’s Flames started propagating, the deep shade of lilac purple _pulsing and pushing upwards as if it wanted_ _to touch_ -

The Sky.

The Cloud looked up, his raven hair reflecting the warm cloudless evening. He suddenly felt light and airy, like nothing could tie him down. A rare case of nausea punched Kyouya in the gut when he took the harsh autumn shade of the evening light and pictured his Namimori burning alongside it.

Hibari Kyouya snarled. He had a Sky to find and anchor himself with, but he’d be damned if the omnivore tried to chain him down. The Cloud would bite anyone to death if that ever happened. First, he had calls to make and Underground worlds to discover. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd we die like men.


End file.
